


Learning How to Lie

by Fallynleaf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:56:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallynleaf/pseuds/Fallynleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean stopped talking after Mary's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning How to Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a (late) Christmas gift for a friend, who wanted to read something that dealt with the adjustment period between losing Mary and becoming hunters.
> 
> This particular fic happened because I was rewatching 1.03 "Dead in the Water," and Dean said this line:
> 
>  **Dean:** _You're scared. It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn't feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too._
> 
> And I immediately knew that there it was. That was the fic I was going to write.

When Dean was four, he held his baby brother in his arms, told him "It's okay, Sammy," and then he didn't say another word for six months.

Dean cried during his sleep, at first. Woke up from nightmares of fire on the ceiling and blood on Sammy's mouth with tears all over his face. The first couple times, Dad was right there with him, stroking Dean's hair, telling him "I gotcha," easing him down from the nightmare.

Then Dad started to get too drunk to wake up, and he went from not catching any winks at night to sleeping like a dead man. And Dean pulled at his father's sleeve, but anything short of maybe shouting or screaming couldn't wake him, which meant that as long as Dean couldn't make words form in his mouth, he was all but alone for the night.

They spent the first week in a decent hotel. But Dad stopped working, and the money stopped coming in, and they moved somewhere cheaper, somewhere with scratchy sheets and noises that creaked through the walls at night.

In the day, Dad would talk to Dean a lot, just to fill the silence. Except it became really more talking _at_ Dean than _to_ him, Dad barking orders because they were easier to give than comfort. _Dean, come here. Help me feed your brother, Dean. Go to sleep. I'll be back in ten minutes._

Without Mom there to remind Dean to kiss Sammy goodnight, Dean stopped doing it. Sometimes he would pause beside the crib and lean over it and just stare down at his brother, but it wasn't a _goodnight_ and it only served to remind him that his mother wasn't there, that she would never be there again.

Sammy got bigger. Sometimes, that was the only way Dean knew that time was still passing, that everything had not just ground to a horrible halt the day that Mom burned on the ceiling. But Sammy was heavier in Dean's arms when he held him now than he had been then, and Sammy started to make babbling noises that eventually turned into something that could pass for actual syllables, though none of it was _words_ yet.

It was another voice besides Dad's, though.

And Sammy was something good and pure and the only other thing still left in Dean's world that mattered. So when things got really bad at night, Dean started to get up and pad over to Sammy instead of trying to wake his father.

He wrapped his fingers tight around the bars of the crib and rested his face on the ledge and stared out through the dirty motel window and listened to Sammy's gentle breathing.

Two months after the fire, Dean watched Lawrence disappear around a corner in the rearview mirror.

Dad left Dean and Sammy with priests, sometimes. Because churches were places that were Good, places that monsters couldn't enter, and most holy men could find it in their hearts to look after two boys for a couple hours while their daddy hunted Evil.

Dean didn't believe in angels anymore. Not after they didn't save his mother.

And because Dean didn't speak, the priests didn't make him pray.

When Sammy and Dean were staying with someone, Dad was often gone for days at a time. When they weren't, Dad would still leave, sometimes for hours, and it would just be Dean and Sammy in a quiet motel room with only the sound of an old radiator and Sammy's babbling to occupy the space of silence.

Most nights, Dad still couldn't get to sleep without a couple drinks in him.

Which meant that if Sammy woke up in the middle of the night, it was usually Dean's job to try and coax him back to sleep. So Dean would pick Sammy up and sit down on the bed so that his lap could bear most of Sammy's weight, and he would rock Sammy gently until the rhythm made them both sleepy.

One early morning, Dean woke to Sammy's squalling and he glanced over at Dad's bed and found it empty.

Trying not to panic, Dean grabbed Sammy and attempted to calm him down. When no amount of rocking had any effect, Dean set Sammy down on the bed and then opened the small refrigerator in the kitchenette and grabbed a bottle of baby formula. He rushed back to Sammy, then propped him up and eased the bottle into his mouth.

The crying cut off abruptly as Sammy satisfied his hunger. He was big enough to start eating grown-up food, but he still preferred the bottle most of the time, and besides, Dean didn't know how to prepare grown-up food.

After Sammy was done with the bottle, Dean set it down on the bedside table and took a couple breaths, glad that his heart had stopped pounding quite so loudly in his chest.

Sammy resumed babbling for a bit, and Dean tried to distract him with a quiet game of peek-a-boo so that Sammy didn't start crying again, but also so that Dean didn't have time to worry about Dad being gone.

Then Sammy quit babbling in order to giggle, and Dean was covering his face and opening his hands to show Sammy a silly expression when he heard it. A word, just one syllable, but unmistakable in its intent.

"Dean!"

And Dean opened his mouth, and a whisper came out, his voice quiet and a little raspy with disuse, "Sammy."

"Dean!" Sammy said again, waving his arms. "Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean!"

"Sammy!" Dean said, his voice growing more confident. "Sammy Sammy Sammy."

Sammy giggled, clearly enjoying this new game. Dean started to laugh before he could help it, the sound of it almost hysterical.

Eventually, his laughter quieted, and he took a breath, and just said, "Hey, Sammy. It's okay."

Because Mom was dead and not coming back, and Dad was gone, but Sammy was still here, and if Sammy could talk, then Dean could, too.


End file.
